Inside This House

Chapter 17 Carson parked her car in front of the studio and got out, shouldering a backpack that contained her gym clothes, several DVDs of film clips she was working on, and her lunch, hand-made by Kennedy. She smiled, shrugging the pack into place, and feeling very loved. With a click of the remote, she locked the car and started for the front door. A few yards short of it, two men in business suits approached her, blocking her entrance. "Hi." She eyed the men uncertainly. "Can I help y'all?" The men didn't look like they were in the industry, and they certainly didn't fit the bill for any of the extra roles they currently had casting calls out for. The studio didn't provide tours without advance reservations and she couldn't recall any on the calendar for the day. "Miss Garret?" One of the men peered at her over the rim of a pair of dark sunglasses. "That would be me." Carson shuffled her weight from one foot to the other. "What do you want?" "We need to talk to you," the other man supplied, and held up a laminated ID card. "CIA, ma'am." Carson's eyes narrowed. "Am I being accused of committing a crime?" "No, ma'am." "You got a warrant?" She leaned forward, reading the badge. "Warren?" "No," the first man answered slowly, his expression surprised. "Subpoena?" "No." Now he was agitated, his tone more gruff. "Anything in writing ordering me to talk to you?" Carson knew why they were there. Sanderson was a complete idiot. "No, ma'am," Warren answered in his best fake friendly southern drawl. Carson rolled her eyes. "In that case, you're in my way and making me late for a meeting." "Ma'am, this is informal." Warren removed his shades and smiled. "Nothing is informal with the government." Carson wasn't smiling. "Now, if you'll excuse me, please." She edged past them, only to have them follow her. Turning, she placed her hands on her hips. "Gentlemen, this is where we part ways. No subpoena, no criminal charges, no talk. Got it? You come back with proper documentation, and we'll find a place to meet. With my lawyer," she added, knowing who her first phone call of the morning would be to. "Ma'am, we can do this now, or we can do it the hard way." Warren's partner held up his own badge. "Got it?" He mimicked her. "Are you threatening me now?" Carson pulled her PDA from its holster, pressing a button. "Care to repeat that?" She leaned forward again. "James?" She held up the PDA. "Speak nice and clear" "Give me that." James reached out, grabbing the Treo from her. "Hey!" Carson yelled in outrage. "You can't take my phone." "I just did," he replied with a saccharine smile. "Then I suggest you give it back," a familiar voice rumbled from behind Carson. "K?" Carson whirled around. "What? How?" "I got to work and realized I'd put your lunch in my backpack and mine in yours. Came through the back entrance - it was quicker than driving all the way around the lot from downtown." Kennedy held up a tupperware container. "What's going on here?" "CIA." "I see." Kennedy frowned. "ID?" "Warren and James. But no warrant or subpoena or anything like that." "Okay." Kennedy studied the two badges Warren and James quickly flashed again, both of them looking slightly up at her. "Is there some problem with my partner's phone that involves the federal government?" "No, Miss Nocona," Warren nervously replied, giving James a nudge. "Give it back." James scowled and held the phone out toward Kennedy. "Not mime." Kennedy nodded toward Carson. "It's her hand you snatched it from. Why don't you give it back to her?" Kennedy stepped closer. "And apologize while you're at it." "Here ma'am." James sounded as if he were going to choke. "Sorry, ma'am." Carson took the phone. "Thank you." She placed it back in its holster. "Now, you were saying?" Warren sighed. "We just came from Roy Sanderson's office. He has some concerns. We merely wanted to ask you a few questions, based upon some things he told us." "That man does seem determined to dig his own grave," Kennedy drawled. "You fly in from Washington this morning, just for this?" "Washington?" James and Warren answered in unison, glancing at each other in genuine surprise. Warren looked at her again. "No. We work out of the Fort Worth office. Took the first flight down on Southwest this morning. Our boss there locally ordered us down here." "Ah." Kennedy passed the container she was still holding over to Carson. "Trade you this roast beef sandwich for the hummus one in your bag?" Carson stifled a laugh and accepted the trade. "Sure." She fished in her backpack and made the switch. "Okay." Kennedy faced the men once more. "I just changed hats, gentlemen. I am now wearing the hat of Miss Garret's legal counsel. I believe there's a conference room inside the building here. We'll agree to speak with you informally, for now, but if your questions reach a place I'm uncomfortable with, I'll instruct my client to cease answering you until you come back with proper paperwork. I also intend to record our conversation. Agreed?" "Agreed," Warren hastily answered. "But --" James stammered, as Warren elbowed him in the ribs. He coughed and glared at Warren. "Agreed," he reluctantly chimed in. Carson pushed the door open. "This way, everyone." "Oh, I need to make a phone call." Kennedy paused as she re-entered the building. "I'm going to step down the hall for a minute and then I'll be back. No questioning until I get back." "I'll see if I can get us some coffee in here." Carson nodded toward a wide-eyed receptionist. "Mandy, if you could please bring a coffee carafe and service to the conference room, I'd appreciate it." "Sure," the young woman answered, quickly rising from her seat and disappearing into the break room. "Back in a few." Kennedy made her way to the end of the hallway and passing an empty office, stepped inside and closed the door, keying her cell phone as she went. It rang a few times before a deep male voice answered. "Roy Sanderson." "Listen, you jackass," Kennedy began. "This is my private line," Sanderson bellowed back at her. "Not private enough, apparently," Kennedy huffed. "You know Roy, at first I wanted to run against you because I felt my ideas were better for this state than yours are. Now I want to run, if for no other reason than you're too damned ignorant to hold public office." "Now, wait a minute!" "No, you wait a minute!" Kennedy yelled. "Last night, all Carson and I had was a couple of questionable fifth-hand rumors about you, which we most likely would have ignored. Now I'm at her office where we have the CIA breathing down our necks. I'll be spending this afternoon prepping for next week's radio show. It's my last regular show before the election. Right now, I'm real inclined to completely change my topic, if you get my drift." "You wouldn't," Sanderson replied. "Call off your dogs, or I just might." Kennedy moved to a window in the office, looking out at a film crew trailer. "They're not my --" He trailed off. "I'll see what I can do." "You do that." Kennedy turned, perching on the windowsill. "Don't take too long. I'm about to go into a meeting with your goons. The longer they talk, the more notes I'll have for my show." "Agghhhh!" Sanderson ended the call. Kennedy sighed and looked back outside for a moment. It was playing with fire, threatening the CIA, but there was something funny about the whole thing, that bothered her. She'd dealt with CIA before. Though hardnosed, the agents she'd encountered had always been extremely professional. These two were more like Laurel and Hardy. The nudges. The odd expressions on their faces. Considering the topic, it seemed like FBI would be more appropriate, assuming their direction had come from Washington. Still. "Hmmm." Kennedy reluctantly left the brief peace of the vacant office and headed back for the conference room. "Warren, where's the CIA's national headquarters?" "Washington, of course." He looked uncertainly at James. "Wrong." Kennedy moved closer. "Langley, Virginia." "Langley - Washington. It's all the same, isn't it?" James quickly answered for him. "The folks that live in both places would probably disagree with you, but okay, I'll give you that." She sat on the edge of the conference table, across from the two men, well-aware of Carson at her back, who was busy filling coffee cups. Kennedy picked up her Treo and idly typed in a text message, smiling when she heard Carson casually remove her own phone. Message delivered. "Excuse me; I need to step outside for a moment." Carson hastily left the room, her features a bit pale. Kennedy stood with her back to the men, once again looking out the window, this time facing the parking lot. It was a nice day, with a clear blue sky and pleasant temperatures. As she watched, a hawk flew low, grabbing something in its claws from the field next to the parking lot. Behind her, the silence was deafening. Her phone vibrated at her hip and she picked it up, glanced at it, then placed it back at her hip. She spun around. "Can I see your badges again, please?" Both men fidgeted uneasily. "Why?" "Just need to write down your ID numbers - purely a legal formality, just in case. Unless you have them memorized. Do you?" She crossed her arms. "Have them memorized?" "Here." Warren slid his badge across the table, and James quickly followed his lead. Kennedy picked them up. "Your eagle's facing the wrong way." She flipped the badge over. "Prop Warehouse, Inc.? Nice." At that moment, Carson entered the room, followed by four large security guards. "Gentlemen, you need to leave, now." She gestured toward the door. "Unless you'd like to wait until the Travis County Sheriff gets here. I believe he's on his way." "Impersonating a federal agent." Kennedy tisked. "Been a while since I checked, but I do believe there is some prison time involved in the sentence for that, if you're convicted. There are several lovely cities in our fair state that host federal prison facilities." She moved around the table. "Some nicer than others." "Warren?" James stood up, his back to the wall. "Run, you idiot!" Warren pushed past him, dodging the security guards and heading for the front door to the building. "Oh gosh." Carson looked out the window as a set of flashing lights drove by. "Looks like the Sheriff is going to give Warren a ride. Nice of him, huh?" She grinned evilly at James. "Come on, buddy." Kennedy grabbed him, twisting his arm behind him and shoving him forward with a knee to his backside. She handed him over to the security guards. "I believe y'all can get him to the Sheriff from here?" "Yes, ma'am." One of the men grabbed James by the scruff of the neck. "Hey!" He struggled, yelling as the dragged him outside. "How did you figure them out?" Carson watched out the window. "Nice thinking, texting me to call the Sheriff and get security, by the way." "Thanks. And that was just it. When you did the figures, they didn't add up." Kennedy joined her. "Then I remembered an agent I worked with on an immigration case a while back. He always wore his badge clipped to his left breast pocket on his suit and the eagle was always facing inward, to his right. These guys had theirs facing left. They picked those up at a prop shop." "Good grief." Carson covered her eyes. "It's not even 9:00 a.m. yet, and I’m exhausted." "Me, too." Kennedy placed a hand on her shoulder. "Come on. Sheriff's motioning for us to come out there." "I need more coffee." Carson followed her out the door. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The office phone rang, startling Kennedy as she half-dozed through a very dry on-line continuing legal education session. Muting the computer, she hit the speaker phone button. "Kennedy Nocona." "You called the Sheriff on my men?" Sanderson's voice boomed incredulously over the line. "You sent goons posing as CIA to stalk my fiancé," Kennedy retorted. "They're lucky I didn't resort to frontier justice." "It will be all over the news by tonight," the congressman fretted. "And I should care about this, why?" Kennedy leaned back, propping her booted feet up on the desk. A quarter of her hummus sandwich sat untouched on a saucer, and she picked it up, taking a bite and washing it down with root beer. "It's not a fair way to win." Root beer came up her nose, as she burst out laughing. "Ouch!" She plucked a tissue from a box on the credenza behind her, dabbing at her face. "Fair? Give me a fucking break, Roy. Covert photographers. Malicious gossip about my girlfriend. Attacks on my personal life. And now this? I'd like to accuse you of writing the book on dirty politics, but the sad truth is you're just following what has become tradition." "Why do you want this job?" His voice actually softened. "You're young, wealthy, best as I can tell. You have that nice house out there on the lake, and a beautiful girlfriend at your side. Why would you want the headache of political office? Once you're in this life, you just about never get out again. What's in it for you, anyway, that you don't already have?" It caught her off guard, and she almost choked again. "You trying to have a heart-to-heart with me?" She stalled before answering. "Or are you just trying to talk me out of it so I won't beat you?" "A little of both." He sounded genuine, all hint of malice gone from his voice. "At least you're honest." For once, she added silently. She took another sip from the cold bottle, feeling the burn of the carbonation as it flowed over her tongue. "What's in it for me?" She gave the question a few moments of due consideration. "My inclination is to pop off and say something noble, like 'nothing, I'm running for the good of the state.' And that is partly true. What's in it for me . . . " She trailed off, staring out the window at the late afternoon shadows cast from a tall pecan tree in front of the building. "Nothing. And everything. Roy --" She sat up, leaning forward on the desk and looking at the phone as if it were Roy himself. "I love Carson. She means everything to me. Yet we can't get married, at least not so that it sticks in all fifty states. And I do have a nice house out on the lake, but some mornings the polluted haze from Austin is hanging in the air all the way out there, and the hills are now covered with development and growing every day. I have clients who are citizens of this country, who work hard, but between taxes and the rising cost of living, and the outrageous cost of a college education these days, they no longer believe they can make a better life for their children. I've met teachers who want to leave their profession because we pay them barely enough to survive on and then each day we send them to work in what amounts to a combat zone. The world is damned screwed up, Roy. I'd like to play some small part in fixing it, if I can." "You were one of those kids who went to law school to change the world, weren't you?" There was no sarcasm to his tone. "Yeah. I guess I was." Kennedy pondered that. Was she? She'd strayed pretty far from that path when she first went to work in Houston. And she'd gotten rich quickly, though that wasn't her intention. Initially she'd gone to law school for the same reason she was running for office. She wanted to make things better for the people in the world she lived in. But somehow, she'd never quite made it back to west Texas. Still, when all was said and done, she was basically doing what she had set out to do when she first took the LSAT. "So was I." He sounded wistful. "What changed?" Kennedy could almost, almost feel sorry for him. She knew what it was like to not be the best person you could be. "First I had to keep up with the other young lawyers, I suppose. Then I got married and I had to keep up with my neighbors. Then I ran for office and I had to keep up with the whole damned Republican party. Politics is a remora, Nocona, and once you hold office, you get to be the shark." He paused. "You aren't recording this, are you?" "No, Roy." Kennedy chuckled. "Your damnation of your people won't make it onto my radio show." "And what of the police report from this morning?" "I have no control over that, but I won't be discussing it on my show, if that's what you're asking." She reached into the front pocket on her button down, retrieving the sheriff's contact card she'd tucked there after they talked. Studying it thoughtfully, she picked up her Treo from the desktop and keyed in his number, saving it for later. "I have a nice arrangement at home, Nocona. My wife takes care of our home and our children, and I take care of everything else. She's the prefect political spouse -- junior league, church choir, attractive but not exotic. I don't need anything messing that up, do you understand?" "Maybe you should've thought about that before you stuck both boots in your mouth." Kennedy rolled her eyes, although she couldn't see him. "By the way, how did you manage to explain away out conversation last night? Or does she already know?" "I'm not admitting to anything," Roy groused. "So there was nothing to explain, other than the persistence of nasty rumors. She's placated. She's a good woman. I couldn't have chosen better. Everyone who meets her loves her." "Do you?" Kennedy absently tapped a pencil against the ink blotter pad on her desk. "Love her?" "What kind of question is that?" "A simple one," Kennedy persisted. She felt sorry for the amiable Nancy Sanderson. Women like her never truly got to live. "Never mind. I need to go. It's been a nice little chat, Roy, downright civil. No worries, I'll not be expecting the same from you in public. Just think, two more weeks and we can end this tango." "I, for one, will be relieved," Roy replied. "Of your seat," Kennedy retorted, hanging up before he could answer. Without missing the beat, she switched screens on her computer, clicked her mouse a few times, and then switched back to the seminar, reluctantly turning the volume back up, just in time to her the beginning of a lecture on revisions to the Texas Rules of Civil Procedure. "God." She lay her forehead down on the desk. "I should record this to play back on those nights I can't sleep. Bet I'd be out in ten minutes flat." She was, indeed, only to be awakened forty-five minutes later by the vibration of her cell phone dancing across the desktop. Without looking at the ID, she grabbed it before it fell to the floor, and answered. "Kennedy Nocona." "Please don't tell me I somehow missed the entire weekend," Carson replied. "Oh, hey there." Kennedy rubbed her face with her free hand, trying to clear the cobwebs. "What are you talking about?" "It's not Monday," she answered. "Is it?" "Babe, you caught me dozing through a seminar, and you're not quite making sense." Kennedy laughed lightly. "Can you start from the beginning, please?" "I just received this huge, bright, floral arrangement." Carson's voice faded and a rustling noise could be heard. "But I could swear it's Friday." "It is." Kennedy clicked on her computer to refresh her memory as to what she'd ordered. "It's just because." "Because?" "Because I love you." "Oh." Carson sounded extremely touched. "I love you, too. And I love them. They're different from anything you've sent before. Tell me what they mean," she asked almost breathlessly. "Please? They always mean something," she added softly. "They do." Kennedy scrolled through her order. "The sunflowers are because I adore you. The red tulips are my declaration of love for you. The yellow tulips are because you make me smile. The ferns are because you're my shelter. The ivy is for my undying friendship, fidelity and affection toward you. They red hyacinth is because you're my playmate. Did I leave anything out?" "There's a gorgeous bird of paradise in there," Carson answered dreamily. "Because you are magnificent." There was a long, silent pause. "K, there's a cactus stalk stuck in here. Am I prickly?" "No." Kennedy laughed. "That's for the endurance of our relationship." "It's the most beautiful bouquet you ever gave me. I can't wait for you to see it." "I can't wait to see you." Kennedy glanced at her watch. "Which will be in about an hour if you're on your way home, too." "Just about to walk out to the car as we speak." "Great." Kennedy logged off her computer, the seminar having ended while she slept. "I'm stopping on the way home for a bucket of crab legs." "I'll bring the beer," Carson answered cheerily. "Meet you on the back porch to watch the sunset?" "Wearing nothing but a smile." "So after the sunset, I get a private view of the moonrise?" "Yeah." Kennedy smirked. TGIF. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As it turned out, Kennedy appeared on the back porch in a sweat suit, in deference to the first cool October night of the year. The crab legs were spicy and rich, the beer cold and smooth. It was a nice night, with low clouds hanging on the horizon across the lake, gliding along, propelled by a light, steady breeze. Carson worked the fragrant meat free from a cracked claw and with a satisfied tug of her teeth, chewed it and swallowed it. "Good stuff," she commented, rubbing her full belly. "They'd just gotten a fresh delivery when I arrived," Kennedy advised her. "My compliments on the beer." She held up the Mexican longneck, clinking it against Carson's. Their eyes danced together as they took sips in unison. "Did anything happen today? After we had Sanderson’s goons hauled away, that is?" Carson studied the flowers, which she'd brought out on the back porch and set on a table against the wall. "Do I need to have a reason to send the woman I love flowers?" Kennedy tilted her head, her eyes twinkling. "Noooo." Carson shook her head with mock graveness. "But --" she trailed off, reaching out and tugging at a lock of Kennedy's hair, twisting it around her finger. "You seem -- I don't know --" She scooted closer. "Thoughtful?" "I am." Kennedy relented. "I was reminded today just how lucky I am." She set her beer aside and wrapped both arms around Carson, pulling her across her lap and hugging her tight. "People get married for a lot of reasons. My reason is that you're my best friend, and I'm completely in love with you." She squeezed Carson again, not letting go. Carson squeezed back. It felt so good, being in Kennedy's arms, holding Kennedy in her own arms at the same time. Their sex life was fantastic, without a doubt, and a part of her figured that wasn't going to change anytime soon. But this -- this, she mused was the best. It was warmth and contentment, happiness and security. Most of all it was what love felt like. Kennedy had the most amazing body, but in that moment Carson knew in fifty years, whether they were still fit or had both put on a pound for each year, what she was feeling right then would never change. If they filled out and slowed down, it didn't matter. On the last day of her life, she hoped to be doing exactly what she was doing right then -- holding Kennedy in the security of their own home, watching a beautiful sunset. It just didn't get any better than that. "I love you," she murmured. Kennedy pulled back, just enough to look into her eyes. Their was tenderness and adoration there, a smile lighting up her entire face from those blue, blue eyes, to the tip of her chin. "Likewise." She leaned in, brushing her lips across Carson's forehead. Carson heard the slightest sigh, and felt Kennedy relax completely. No words were needed. "Nothing else matters but this," Kennedy whispered in her ear. Okay, no words needed, but very welcome and satisfying nonetheless, Carson mused silently. They sat there through sunset and dusk, listening to the crickets chirping and the bullfrogs croaking from the tall marsh grass near the boathouse. All around them on the porch, the dogs and cats were stretched out, having given up on receiving an offering of seafood. Doggie snoring was hypnotic, and Carson began to doze on and off herself, her body slumped completely against Kennedy, who was humming lightly, her chest vibrating against Carson. "What do you think will happen after the news about those guys hits the TV?" She suddenly remembered the excitement of the morning. It was amazing how calm life was at the end of the day, considering how it had begun. "It won't." Kennedy answered, absently rubbing Carson's arm. "You don't think the wires are going to pick up on a police report that ties those guys to Sanderson?" Carson looked up. "Maybe not national news material, but locally?" "I talked to the Sheriff on the way home." Kennedy shifted, easing Carson onto the porch swing seat next to her and stretching out her long legs, her arms still securely around the smaller woman. "I was going to ask him to keep a lid on it for a while, if he could." "Really?" "Yeah. Partly, as I said before, I don't want to win that way. Partly, I had a chat with Sanderson today." She paused, and Carson drew back slightly, placing a hand against Kennedy's stomach. "You called him?" Her voice rose in surprise. "He called me." Kennedy chuckled as Carson's eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. "At first to grouse about us calling the Sheriff, but the more we talked -- I don't know -- he sounded old, babe. Almost as if he believes he will lose." "According to the polls, he's correct." "True, but there was something more to it." Kennedy lifted a hand, running her fingers through Carson's hair as she talked. "I think he's living with some significant regrets. I have no doubt the nasty side he's shown from the start will resurface in no time, but today he was different, if only for a little while. I almost felt sorry for him. He comes from a world that is fading away." "You mean all that old-money, country club, high-society, prim and proper bullshit?" Carson asked, feeling Kennedy's body shake with silent laughter. "Yeah." Kennedy laughed lightly, out loud this time. "Give us a few more decades and I think the neck tie and pantyhose will be things of the past. He comes from a world where everything has very strict rules of decorum. Kids coming up out of school today are throwing all that out the window. His generation is desperately trying to hold a world in place that is slipping from their grasp and leaving them in the dust." "He doesn't get you at all, does he?" Carson looked up at her, her eyes full of pride. "He doesn't get us," Kennedy corrected her. "But by the time we finished talking, I think maybe he was a tad bit closer." "Is the Sheriff going to honor your request?" "He was even before I asked," Kennedy advised. "He didn't say a whole lot, but he specifically asked me to keep it quiet and alluded to something bigger going on. I have a feeling Sanderson may be into something beyond a few manly encounters in the back alleys of Bangkok." "Ooo, the plot thickens." Carson sat up a little, still leaning against Kennedy. "He was awfully careless in the things he said to us. It was like he was so freaked out he couldn't think straight." "Yeah, I go that feeling, too." Kennedy lifted her beer bottle, draining its remains. "And you know, I just don't care. Who knows if those stories were heard are even true? Maybe those are false rumors to steer people away from something completely different. All I know is in two weeks, this race is over, and one way or the other, I'm going to be glad to move on to whatever comes next." "There isn't some small part of you that really, really wants to win?" Carson gave a tug to the drawstring on Kennedy's sweatshirt hood. "Yea, the part that thinks Sanderson is an idiot." Kennedy ruffled her hair. "Beyond that, I don't have political aspirations. You don't need to worry that one day I'm going to wake up and decide to make a run for the White House. There's a certain level of insanity in that, that I just don't have in me." "What about the Supreme Court?" "Hmmm, if that offer ever comes my way, I'd give it some serious consideration." Kennedy pursed her lips inward, her forehead knit in a slight frown. "That's a lot of responsibility. It would depend on where we are in our lives at that time, I guess." "We?" "Of course." Kennedy peered at Carson, her tone genuinely surprised. "We're building a life together sweetheart. I wouldn't go buy a refrigerator anymore without discussing it with you first. I'd sure as heck not make a decision that would uproot us for half the year to Washington without taking you into consideration. Speaking of taking you into consideration --" Kennedy touched Carson's cheek, waiting for eye contact. "I asked the Sheriff if he thought those guys were dangerous, or if he thought we should be worried about anyone else." "And?" Carson's eyes grew wide, memories of kidnappers clouding her face. "He said he thought they had everything under control, but that taking extra caution would be a good idea." She stroked Carson's face with the backs of her knuckles. "I thought about asking if he could have a few troopers tail you for a while, but I didn't think that would go over well." She smiled at Carson's affirmative nod. "Just be careful, okay? And check in with me often? Humor me, please." "I can do that." Carson patted Kennedy's leg. "But that goes two ways -- I expect my phone to be ringing a few times a day too, okay?" "Deal." Kennedy stretched and yawned. "You ready to call it a day?" "More than ready." Carson untangled herself and stood, gathering up the bucket of crab shells and her empty beer bottle, while Kennedy retrieved the flowers and took them inside the house. After taking care of the animals they made their way to the master suite to wash their faces and brush their teeth. Kennedy stripped off her sweatshirt and pants, and turned, pulling on Carson's jeans pocket and helping her ease out of them, giving her a few teasing tickles in the process. They sank into bed, collapsing together in the middle. Kennedy pulled the covers up and turned out the light, pulling Carson into her arms. "Mmmmmmm." She hugged Carson, wrapping her up in both arms and legs. Carson sought out her lips and they exchanged a few kisses, then settled down into the soft pillow-top mattress, their heartbeats and breathing slowing into night-time rhythms. "This is nice." Carson nuzzled Kennedy's warm skin, resting her head on her pillow as Kennedy engulfed her from behind, curling tightly against her. "Mmm-hmmm." Kennedy kissed the top of her head and closed her eyes. She was tired but happy, realizing that beyond sex, beyond conversation, was something she craved most of all -- the closeness they increasingly shared, the body she was wrapped around now as familiar as her own. It was hard to remember what it had been like only one year before. Sighing contentedly, she drifted off slowly, feeling Carson's ribs rising and falling with her breathing. She didn't want to remember. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "No, no no!" Kennedy stood in the middle of the Town Lake Trail, her phone to her ear and her other hand on her hip. "I said, 'no,' Chip. Go look up the definition at dictionary.com." Tilting her body from side to side, she stretched out her back and shoulder muscles, enjoying the light breeze playing against her sweaty neck and arms. The sky was completely overcast and they were certain to have rain by morning, if not sooner. "Because," she continued. "I'm done campaigning. No more banquets. No more staged photo-ops. No more debates. Nunca mais, nada mas. I'm done." She continued listening, walking in circles to keep her legs warm. She was halfway through a much-needed six-mile run. "What do you mean you didn't care for the show? . . . Well, I'm sorry you don't approve of free legal resources as a topic, but that's why they call it 'The People's Lawyer.' I'm supposed to be helping people with legal questions. That was the show's original purpose. I really can't be using that time to directly plug my own campaign, but if people like what they hear there, maybe they'll vote for me. Did that ever occur to you? Besides, that was over a week ago. Why are you bitching about it now? . . . Men do too, bitch, especially gay ones . . . Hello? I’m gay, too. I sure as hell don't have to be PC with you. It's true, and you know it. Have you ever watched 'Will and Grace'? . . . Okay, I rest my case. Why are we having this conversation, anyway?" Impatient to get moving again, she began lightly sprinting down the path with the phone still at her ear. "You have five minutes before I’m too out of breath to keep talking to you. No! . . . Okay, listen. Tomorrow night Carson and I are going to a film festival. That little Travis County Jail piece we were in was accepted to the festival and Lisa and her crew asked us to attend as their guests. . . . No! . . . I don't care who sees me shoot the bird, it's called acting. You want one more photo-op, you send your dogs to the film festival. Its downtown at the Alamo Drafthouse on Sixth Street. I'll be there around 6:30 but I'm not hanging around long after it's over. I promised Carson we'd go do something fun afterward." She was breathing harder and debated hanging up on him. It was Friday afternoon and she was ready for one last weekend to chill out before the election on Tuesday. "I don't care. You should have consulted me first on this one. For the last time, I am not attending a Daughters of the Texas Republic tea on Sunday afternoon. I don't care how many fence-sitting last-minute moderate votes it might get me. . . . Why? Because if I do that, I might as well burn my butch card, go buy a pink suit, and start selling Mary Kay for a living. There are limits. This is mine. You want pictures of me out and about with the voting public, you're going to have to shoot me in my jeans drinking a beer in a theater. Hanging up now. Bye." Clipping the phone back to her waistband, she increased her pace. It felt good to just run and sweat, and allow the stress of the past nine months roll off her like so much steam. As surely as rounding the next bend on the trail was her home stretch back to her office, this last weekend was her home stretch to the election. One way or the other, the months of campaigning would be over in four days, and she could get on with her life, whatever shape it might take. The phone rang again and she glared at it before yanking it out of its holster. "Look, I told you 'no.' . . . Oh, sorry. Hold on." She put the phone on mute and stared at the caller ID for a moment. "I have got to start doing that before I mouth off," she muttered. The number was unlisted. "Then again, I might not have answered it if I had." Lifting it back to her ear, she took a deep breath. "And how do I know you're really FBI? . . . Fine. Where are you? . . . My office? I really don't want to have this conversation there. My staff has been through enough this year. You in plain clothes? . . . Alright. Come down to the Hyatt on Town Lake and meet me on the patio out back. . . . Five minutes? That will work. I'll be there before you anyway. I'm about a block from there now. Just make sure and bring your IDs with you, please." Replacing the phone, she half-heartedly trotted toward the Hyatt. "So much for one last relaxing weekend." She reached the hotel and took the stairs up two at a time, ducking through the back door and making her way to the little bar just inside the doorway. "Bottle of water, please." She laid a five dollar bill on the counter. The bar tender took the money and disappeared, returning momentarily with a premium bottle of water. "Your change, senorita," he pushed a dollar bill and a few coins toward her. "Keep it." She pushed back. "Gracias." The man smiled and collected the tip, dropping it in a jar beside the cash register. "I vote for you on Tuesday, me and mi esposa." "Thanks." Kennedy nodded graciously. "Tu nombre?" "Jorge." He held out his hand, and she shook it firmly. "Encantado de concerle, Jorge. Dar mi lo que se refiere a su esposa. Give my regards to your wife." "Pleased to meet you, too." He retrieved a beer from beneath the counter. It was cold, the thick glass sides sweating. "Cerveza? On the house." It looked good. She wasn't driving anytime soon. And she was about to talk to the FBI. "Muchas gracias." Nodding again, she took the cold beverage and stepped back outside, taking a seat at a table to wait for the men in suits. Out on Town Lake, the UT crew rowed by, the coxswain calling out the cadence to her team mates. Kennedy thought back to her first date with Carson. She vaguely remembered watching the crew pass by them on that evening as they walked along the path she'd just been running on, but what she remembered most was gathering her courage to kiss the first woman she'd kissed in five years. It wasn't just any kiss. Carson wasn't merely the first woman she'd kissed in five years; she was the last woman Kennedy would ever kiss. Even then, Kennedy had instinctively known that. She'd wanted it so badly, and had thought about little else for the two weeks leading up to the date. Holding Carson's hand as they'd walked along that evening, she'd felt the future, Carson's warm hand in hers taking a gentle but firm hold on her heart. It hadn't been a matter of if she'd kiss Carson, but when and how. The story of lovers kissing under the magical Bridge of Sighs in Venice, and falling in love forever, had been the perfect opening. The kiss itself had been more than perfect. With one kiss, she was lost and found. Magic, indeed; forever a foregone conclusion. Sighing, she twisted the cap off the beer bottle and took a long swallow. She'd much rather be kissing Carson than waiting for the FBI. As she looked up, two men in three-piece suits came walking down the path and up the steps, and she stifled a laugh. They might as well have had 'FBI' tattooed on their foreheads. "ID, please." She stood, shaking their hands with one hand and collecting the offered badges with the other. Studying them, she pushed them back across the table and re-claimed her seat. "Thanks for being legit." She tipped her bear bottle at them. "Want a beer?" "We're on duty, ma'am." The older of the two, Stanley, answered. "Yes." The younger one, Walter, contradicted. He shook his watch at the dour-appearing Stanley. "We're off duty, Stan. It's five after four." "Whatever." Stanley rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself." "Beg your pardon, I'll be right back." Walter made his way inside to the bar. "So, this what I think it's about or are you here to surprise me with something new?" Kennedy deadpanned. "You haven't spoken with Miss Garret?" Stanley's eyes widened in surprise. "We talked to her less than an hour ago. I assumed --" "Hold on." Kennedy set her beer down and picked up her phone, punching a button for missed calls. Sure enough, the last missed call was perfectly timed to coincide with her argument with Chip. "Dammit. Must've missed her beep-in while I was running. Let me just --" She pressed a few more buttons and stepped toward the end of the deck, out of ear-shot. "Hey, babe. I'm so sorry I missed your call. I'm at the Hyatt talking with the FBI. . . . Because I was out running and told them to come to me. . . . I know, but I can't bring myself to care. I'm tired of everything right now. . . . No, not of you. Never of you." Her voice found its smile. "This about Sanderson? . . . Smart girl. I'll give you a call when I'm done. Love you." She hung up and returned to the table, just as Walter reappeared with a cold bottle in hand. "Miss Nocona --" "Please. Call me Kennedy." "Kennedy," Stanley began again. "I understand some gentlemen came to Miss Garret's office a few weeks ago, professing to be CIA, that you determined they were not CIA, and that you called the Travis County Sheriff, who came and arrested them. Is that correct?" "Yes, except Carson called the Sheriff, not me, though I asked her to make the call," Kennedy corrected him. "Why?" "We'll ask the questions, Miss Nocona. You answer them." Stanley peered sternly at her over the top of a pair of horn-rimed glasses. Kennedy's brows shot into her hairline, but she remained silent, mentally counting to ten and grateful for the beer to take the edge off. "Alright," she finally answered. "You ask, I'll answer. No elaborating. Got it." "I didn't say --" Walter held up a hand, cutting Stanley off. "Kennedy, I apologize. It's been a long week. We're tired and ready to go home." "That makes three of us." Kennedy leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed, the beer forgotten. "You have questions. Ask away, and we can all get out of here." "Stan, if I may?" Walter looked to his partner, who glared but nodded silent acquiescence. Despite the stand-off, Kennedy sympathized with Stanley, recognizing that on a level, they were probably cut from the same cloth. "If I may," Kennedy parroted Walter. "Let me guess. You went to Carson to get her story, and she told you she wasn't going to talk to you without me, because I'm her attorney, correct?" "Yes," Walter confirmed. "When we determined you were with her at the time the two men approached, we decided to just come directly to you and see if we could save her the headache." Walter rose a few notches in Kennedy's esteem. "Thank you for that." She picked up her bottle and took a sip. "Yes, I was with her for most of their short-lived visit. Last I heard, the Sheriff had them in custody." "We spoke with the Sheriff earlier today," Walter supplied. "This case is now under our jurisdiction. Impersonating a federal agent is a serious offense." "I told those men as much myself." Kennedy's phone rang and she casually glanced at it, almost choking when Roy Sanderson's number appeared on the caller ID screen. "Speak of the devil." She held it up for their inspection. "Ma'am, do you mind taking that call on speaker phone?" "And risk becoming a party to entrapment? I don't think so." Kennedy frowned, sending the call to voice mail. "I don't know what Roy is involved in, and frankly, I don't want to know." "Even though you're up against him on Tuesday?" Stanley was incredulous. "I assumed, given the position you're in, you'd be more than willing to do anything you can to have him removed from the picture." "You assumed wrong," Kennedy replied, her blood suddenly boiling. "If you have more questions, ask them. If not, let's end this little happy hour and quit wasting both of our time." "Hold on." Walter held up a hand, palm out in a calming gesture. "Stan didn't mean to offend you, did you Stan?" He turned to his partner, glaring at him. "No, ma'am," Stanley answered slowly. "I didn't. I apologize for making assumptions about you." "Apology accepted." Sincere or not, she added silently. "Do you have any idea why those men came to Miss Garret's office?" Walter reviewed some notes scribbled on a small pad he withdrew from his pocket. "I do, but it's based on sixth-hand hearsay." Kennedy finished her beer and opened her water bottle, taking a healthy swig. "And that would be?" "Roy is involved in something. I don't know what. Carson met some folks at the interfaith harvest festival. One thing led to another, and one of them told her some crazy story about Roy cheating on his wife during a business trip to Bangkok. We didn't think too much of it, initially. Gossip is gossip and by the time Carson heard the story, it had been passed along between three or four people. Besides, I figure Roy's personal life is none of my business." "Even though he doesn't feel the same way toward you?" Stanley peered over the glasses again. "I find that hard to believe." "Do you need those glasses or are they just for show?" Kennedy crossed her arms again. "What?" Stanley sat back in surprise. "Nothing." Kennedy sighed. "If I conduct myself the same way Roy has, that makes me like him, doesn't it?" She waited. "Well, doesn't it?" "I supposed," Walter answered slowly, when Stanley was not forthcoming. "I have been trying, throughout this campaign, to show the voting public that I'm different from Roy." Kennedy paused, giving the information time to sink in. "If I go poking into his personal life and slinging mud, then what difference is there? I might as well hang up my hat and go home. But I digress. As I said, we heard some gossip about Roy and didn't think much of it until those two goons showed up at Carson's office. My personal opinion -- Sanderson is involved in something that he's afraid of being found out. What that something is, I don't know. I also know that he seems to have a sixth sense about my dealing with law enforcement personnel, given the timing of some of his calls to me." "He's called you before today?" Walter scribbled a few notes. "He's called me on and off throughout the campaign, but yes, he's called me about this particular incident -- I think this makes three or four times now. Assuming that's what he was calling about just now." "You think he's watching you?" Stanley cut in, genuine concern in his voice. Kennedy chewed on that for a moment. "No." She looked him directly in the eye. "I think he's got moles with law enforcement. He's not watching me. He's' watching you." "But -- " "No, listen." Kennedy sat up and leaned forward. "Sure, he's got folks watching me, but I think that's been going on since day one that I announced I was running against him. This is different. I think he's got someone in the Sheriff's office tipping him off as to their dealings in this matter. The timing of his calls is too impeccable. You talked to the Sheriff earlier today, and he calls me now, today of all days. It's too much of a coincidence. The only way he could know you're here is if --" She stopped, her heart leaping into her throat. "Carson." She stood up, grabbing her phone. "I need to make a call." She moved to the end of the deck again, blindly dodging the empty tables in her way. "Hey." She forced calmness into her voice. "I need to ask you to do something you're not going to like." "What?" Carson's voice was immediately defensive. "Please?" Kennedy closed her eyes. "Are you okay?" "Yes." Carson's tone softened. "You sound scared." "I am scared." Kennedy sat down on a bench overlooking the lake below. "Will you please, please let me have the Sheriff send an escort to follow you home? Just follow you. You don't have to ride with them." "Now you're scaring me." "It's just a precaution," Kennedy tried to reassure her. "I think Sanderson's having us followed." "Well, of course he is," Carson replied, slightly annoyed. "After those pictures of me and Heidi, I won't even get out of the shower without first double-checking to make sure the bathroom blinds are closed." "No, sweetheart. I think he's having us watched because of whatever he's got going on in Bangkok." "Oh." Carson was silent for a few seconds. "I'll agree to the escort, on one condition." "Anything." "You have the Sheriff send you one, too." "But --" "You said 'anything'," Carson reminded her sweetly. "Okay." Kennedy reluctantly agreed. "Two posses of state troopers, coming up. You call me when they've arrived, okay? And if they don't get there before time for you to go home, stay put until I can come get you. No, scratch that. I'm coming to your office, soon as I get off this phone. We'll leave your car there for the weekend and drive home together. I'll ask the Sheriff to arrange for shifts of escorts at least until the election is over. It's only four days. We can ride in to work together on Monday, and we were taking off Tuesday anyway." "Okay." Carson audibly swallowed. "You be careful." "I will." Kennedy glanced back at Stan and Walter, feeling their eyes on her. Looking up, her own eyes darted around, wondering who else might be watching. "Babe, do me a favor." "Sure." Carson's voice was full of sympathy. "I don't like living like this. If I ever, ever, mention running for office again, will you please go get your softball bat and knock me over the head with it?" "Can't do that. I like your head in one piece. But I will give you a few smacks." "Good enough. I need to make another call, and then I'm on my way." Kennedy stood. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Hang tight, okay." "I'll be waiting." Kennedy disconnected the call and immediately made another, hearing Sanderson answer on the other end. "Don't open your goddamned mouth. You just listen. Back off of Carson, or so help me, the first suspicious person who comes within twenty yards of her is going to get their fucking heads blown off and then I'm coming after you next. You got me?" She hung up without waiting for an answer, making her way back to Walter and Stanley. "Gentlemen. You know everything I know." She fished a business card from the small ID case she carried when she jogged, handing it over to them. "I need to make a correction to my earlier statement. I do believe Sanderson is watching me and my partner. Not that he wasn't already doing that from time to time to fish for dirt, but now I believe he's watching us in relation to whatever you all are investigating. At first I thought he had someone inside the Sheriff's office, but the Sheriff doesn't know you're talking to me right now, does he?" "No, ma'am," Stanley confirmed. "The Sheriff didn't even know we were going to talk to Miss Garret." "But you were at the Sheriff's office and he did give you my and Carson's names," Kennedy asked rhetorically. "Then Sanderson calls me just after you arrive here. Assuming he was calling because he knew I was talking with you -- that leads me to believe he had someone either watching for you at Carson's office, or watching me, or both. But I'd been running for over three miles when you called me. There's no road down here, only a pedestrian path, and I don't think anyone has been running behind me. That makes me think there was someone watching from Carson's office, who then followed you to me." She looked around again, her scalp prickling. "I'd appreciate the courtesy of being kept apprised of whatever develops with your case. I'd especially appreciate whatever you can do to get his men off our back. My partner has been through a hell of a lot since I met her. I’m not stupid. I know you do your homework before you talk to people, so I know you're aware of her kidnapping last year. I don't want her to have to live in fear that she's being watched. Enough is enough." "Ma'am, I don't think you'll have to wait long," Walter advised her. "That's all I'm at liberty to say, but I believe I can at least tell you that much. It won't be long, no more than a week, tops." "Good." Kennedy didn't bother sitting down again. "If you can promise me a week, we can work with that." "I can't promise without a doubt, but I’m 99.9 per cent certain this will be wrapped within the week." Walter tucked his notepad back into his breast pocket and extended his hand. Kennedy shook it and Stanley's in turn. "Fair enough. You have my card. I expect periodic calls." With that she turned, heading back down the path. Jogging was no longer an option. In a blind rush, she tore down the trail as fast as her feet would carry her. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Continued in Chapter 18

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